This fabricated world of mine
by Ser.REnity
Summary: Mary really does not want to stay- somebody must take her place, after all. /TwoShot. Basically a character study of Mary. Spoilers for one or two of the endings.
1. Cross My Heart

**Cross My Heart**

_A painting would not lie. It would not change. It would not love._

But she was so real, so very real- how could she not be? After all that had happened she could still feel and laugh and walk- so what if she did not breath?

The name had been given to _her_, no one else. She had felt like taking on the world and winning.

Mary observed the world she had entered.

The painting behind her was shattered and broken- it was where she had come from. But in the picture nothing lived and nothing happened, it was a moment forever set in stone.

Her dolls had greeted her first. Their shining, black eyes glinted with joy and she cried for their sake. Not everyone could leave the world of the man who called himself Guertena- her father, her creator.

Mary did not feel like somebody's property. She had dreams on her own, dreams that even dared to leave the painted world.

But a painting could not live without a motive to display.

_The painter would draw for a purpose, he would be happy once he finished. Why couldn't she?_

Once she had been only an idea. A memory Guertena himself never encountered; however, it haunted him still.

And as every human being, every person, he had searched for a way to express himself and all his supposed madness he knew as creativity.

Mary had seen how he soiled the precious white papers with his visions. It terrified her how casually he forced the pencil and brushes across the pure world of its own, how casually he destroyed it with a quick twist of the hand.

What remained created her.

_A rose would lose its petals in the storm._

Mary smiled as she picked up her rose, the brightly yellow flower she had had in her painting. It gave her comfort.

That was an indication she was alive, wasn't it? She had to be, right?

The toys left carelessly on the floor lined her path just like visitors on a parade day. All of them were refugees from one of the now shattered realms behind security glass; they were unhappy and bent on revenge.

But who was to kill? The painter? The observer? Who could claim to solidify the wicked visions?

_The storm would come, in time, before the petals fell._

The little girl and her guardian had found shelter at last, in a room not far to the row of paintings Mary so strongly disliked.  
First, she only watched them interact, but she could not make much of it. It appeared they had been visitors to some kind of art exhibition- the same paintings that trapped so many good persons?

It made her angry to see these other persons so free and lively. Why did they have what she wanted to badly? Who decided they deserved it?

Mary followed them and learned. The man, Garry, told stories of about everything, everything he knew or liked; he became an open book, a painting with an obvious motive.

The girl, who called herself "Ib", stayed silent and never revealed more than she had to.

Mary was curious.

_Someone would choose who could leave the painted world. Someone had to. But who would take their place?_

They found her on the floor; a silent, frightened girl in the middle of the death trap they wanted to leave. Mary was a good actress; she knew she had to wait for a better opportunity.

If it was possible for every painted person to just leave like that, it would end in chaos. Guertena had known as much. And so did the paintings.

It had to be a trade, a painted life for a real one.

Her two saviors did not suspect anything, it was a perfect disguise.

The paintings wanted her to escape, after all. A new life, a pulsating, breathing person was so much more interesting.

_They would believe they were safe in their outside world. They would not see what the pictures wanted._

Mary soon noticed she liked the girl. Ib was quiet and distant, but nice and so very naive.

The stone plants separated the two of them from Garry.

She was happy to have her new friend all for herself; if everything went as planned, they could escape together. Live as a family.

Mary liked the sound of that. Forever together. Forever caught in a perfect moment.

But Ib's answer to the essential question was... wrong. She wanted to escape with Garry. Alone.

Mary had never truly felt disappointment, but she recognized it when it jumped her in the face. And it hurt.

_The dolls would not disappoint her. They would watch and listen and care._

The palette knife sliced through the fabric, again and again and again.

Puppets did not bleed.

"In my way... in my way... in my way... in my WAY", Mary screamed and kept her steady rhythm of stabs. The footsteps behind her did not bother her in the least.

There was nothing in the museum that could hurt her.

The mannequin would soon be that man. How could he? He stole Ib and kept her for himself, even though they were not related.

_GARRY WOULD REGRET HIS CHOICE._


	2. And Hope To Die

**And Hope To Die**

_The eyes of the doll would never see again. They would never recover._

Mary loved the outside world. Every color was less intense and rich in here, every smell pungent and vile. The people moved too fast and so did time- a single minute spent in the museum had aged her.

Everything was so... **alive**.

She did not know the meaning of tears and sorrow, but she knew very well what the want for something happened to be.

Her smiles were painted upon her face by an old, desperate man who thought himself a genius; they were as real as this world.

Soon she would know how to do it on her own and she felt excitement flood her thoughts like a tidal wave.

_The door would stay open for quite a while. When the substitute was found and left alone, it would close. Once and for all._

"Where are you going, Ib?", Mary asked and her blue eyes shone with sadness.

The other girl stayed silent and watched in horror. How fragile she was.

Mary stepped closer.

"Why are you going by yourself?"

And closer.

"We promised we'd be together..."

Ib backed away until her back hit the wall.

Mary followed.

"...Right?" She laughed. Her smile faded fast enough.

"Why are you running?"

She was pushed to the floor by the strange man only seconds later.

Her rose fell to the ground and she fell silent.

_Even her petals would fall someday. She would wait. _

Ib embraced her savior, felt safe when he was around.

Mary wanted to stab him, make him leave her alone and in peace and _with her_. Then they could be friends and live happily.

It was a beautiful dream.

But then it took such a long time to catch up with the mortal duo; their bond strengthened. Mary could almost feel how their trust grew and how easily both of them relied on the other.

And then they fell.

The toy box swallowed them whole.

_They would not stop her. Not in this world or any other. She would be happy._

Mary did not jump after them.

One of the dolls crawled for her, saw for her and moved towards the rose on the dark floor.

Roses meant life in their world and this was an easy way to get her hands on one more- five more chances to escape and a method to bribe herself a friend.

The doll needed to move only a few steps...

Just three.

Ib appeared at the side of its vision.

Two.

She saw the rose and hurried closer.

One.

Ib took the rose.

Mary did not know if that was indeed a bad thing.

_She would find a way to stop her friend. And they would be friends forever. And ever._

Ib had ventured way too far into the painted world. As she watered the tulips with a smile on her face and stared into the abyss until it frightened her no more, she became a part of the painting.

Mary knew how fast one could adapt to the different circumstances and she hoped it would her best friend only take a bit of encouragement.

The clock was not ticking anymore and yet she felt it was not much time left.

Why couldn't they just be friends and leave together?

Garry could stay behind-

_Garry would not stay behind on his own if it was not to save a life. He would find a way for both of them._

Mary decided to see her painting. It helped her remember what she wanted and needed most: the outside world. The reality she had not been made for.

Ib stood before the shattered frame, lighter in hand.

It took Mary a few moments to realize what her intentions were.

The part of her called heart seemed to clench at the sight and it was suddenly not big enough to carry all the fear and hatred and... relief?

_A painting would always stay a picture frozen in time._

Mary began running as the flames licked on the picture and tasted its sweet surreal contains.

_It would never lie._

Her whole body burned as her world did.

_It would never change_.

She screamed and writhed as her childish body was consumed by the flames.

_It would never love._

And what was left was silence.

The ashes rained down upon the colorful floor as the painted world aged and decayed.

_So why did she?_


End file.
